


Quatervois

by ScotlandEvander



Series: Don't Ever Change [22]
Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, Real Person Fiction, Tom Hiddleston Fandom
Genre: Engagement, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Humor, Moving In Together, Near Death Experiences, POV Alternating, POV Female Character, POV Male Character, POV Third Person, Pilots, Trucks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-16
Updated: 2014-09-16
Packaged: 2018-02-17 15:50:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2315027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScotlandEvander/pseuds/ScotlandEvander
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Do you know what you made me to?”</p><p>The student Pamela had hooked earlier fearfully gazed up at her. </p><p>“Do you?”</p><p>“N-n-n-n-no.”</p><p>“I proposed to Tom Hiddleston!” </p><p>Without another word Pamela turned and stormed off before the girl could start crying again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quatervois

**Author's Note:**

> Long time, no post. I know. You know that Target commercial that claims babies are little time munchers? They are. However, I've reclaimed enough time to finish this series. There are two more stories to wrap things up after this one and they'll be posted after I finish editing.

OoOoOoOoOoO

_Pamela_

Pamela burst out of the building, her heart jack-hammering and adrenaline flooding her system. She had a massive amount of paperwork to complete after hooking the kid who’d tried to fly into ANOTHER plane during a formation flight and the debrief, but right now she needed to calm down. 

Pulling her phone out of her pocket, she thanked who ever needed to be thanked that Tom was in Toronto filming a movie instead of in London doing whatever. While this didn’t mean he’d answer, at least he was only one time zone over instead of six. 

“Cinnamon,” Tom greeted. 

“I almost died,” Pamela voiced for the first time. “She almost killed us both. I don’t know how this kid got this far in the program as it’s clear she’s never flown in her life. SHE ALMOST FLEW INTO THE OTHER PLANE!”

Pamela’s knees gave out and she sunk to the ground. She hid her face behind her arm she flung across her knees.  

“I hope you hooked her,” Tom said, his voice level and calm, even though Pamela knew he was anything but those things at the moment. 

“I’d flunk her out of the program if I could,” Pamela muttered. “But she’s a girl. Not enough of us, so they push those few of us through the program. Or so I’m told. Since I’m competent, I didn’t see it when I was in pilot training. I’ve only noticed since I got here. Let me tell you something, there should be no crying in flying. I mean, if you want to cry, go to the bathroom. Don’t do it on the flight line in front of me and your fellow officers. It’s unprofessional.”

Tom remained quiet.

“Never mind. It doesn’t matter she’s a girl. If she’d been a guy and pulled the same stunt, I’d’ve hook her still. And still think she should flunk out ASAP. I don’t give two flying flips about her reproductive organs. Or the fact she broke into tears before I landed the plane.” 

Pamela lifted her head up and stared up into the cloudless, wind swept sky while Tom said something. She wasn’t listening, just taking in the soothing sound of his voice. It washed over her and she ached for him. 

She missed him. 

The thing that flashed through her mind when she realized what the idiot student was about to do was that Tom wouldn’t be allowed to visit her in the hospital, or be told anything upon her death by moron student pilot. 

“Marry me,” popped out of Pamela’s mouth before she could stop it. 

Tom stopped what he was saying, paused, then said, “All right.”

Pamela’s eyes went wide. She began to sputter for a moment before she said, “Okay.” 

“When would you like to do this? I’m a little busy at the moment,” he calmly pointed out. “As are you.”

“I don’t…I don’t…oh, god. I ruined it, didn’t I?”

“Ruined what, dove?”

“Everything! You’re a complete and utter romantic! And I just asked you to marry me in the most unromantic manner…”

Tom chuckled, “But it was so you, Pamela love.” 

Pamela opened and closed her mouth like a gaping fish.

“Granted, I had always imagined this happening in person rather over the phone, but in the end it doesn’t matter.”

“Thomas,” Pamela moaned. “You had something planned, didn’t you?”

“Why would you even think that?” Tom innocently asked. 

Pamela gave the air in front of her the look she’d pinned Tom with if he were there in person. Just to prove they were on the same wavelength, Tom laughed. 

“Oh, don’t look like that. I know what expression you’d be giving me if I were there,” Tom grinned. “I love that you asked me. Just confirmation my chasing after you was for the best.”

Pamela shook her head, rolling her eyes. “Do I need to buy you a ring?”

Tom gave off a fully belly laugh. “Now, don’t take that away from me as well!”

Pamela sighed. 

“I won’t require a ring till we wed,” Tom went on. “So, as I asked before, when do you want to do this? I was thinking spring.”

“Of this year?”

“Oh, goodness no. We’d have to get married next month! Is there a rush? I’d like to do proper planning,” Tom said. “Hold on a moment.” 

Pamela heard him take the phone away from his ear. He must be walking around town or in a loud area, as city sounds filled Pamela’s ear. It was odd mixed together with the noise of planes taking off and landing.   

“Most places I’ve looked into are booked up to a year in advance,” Tom said, drowning out the city noises with his voice. “Also, if we want Door in the wedding party, we might want to let her have little Thomas and loose the baby weight. And then readjust to life with a child.”

“Oh,” Pamela breathed. “You _have_ been thinking about this…” 

“So, Door’s due in May…I was thinking April of next year,” Tom went on as if he hadn’t heard Pamela. He sounded as if he was too excited to allow anyone to rain on his parade. 

Pamela felt a little dizzy. And really bad she’d screwed up whatever he’d been planning (he was clearly planning something). Why hadn’t it even occurred to her Tom would ask her to marry him? 

“—in Colorado Springs.”

“What? Not London?”

“I like the idea of a mountain backdrop,” Tom wistfully confided. “And it’s not likely to rain for the outdoor photos. It’s abundantly sunny there.”

“Uh, okay. I didn’t realize you’d been taken that much with Colorado. You were there for forty-eight hours,” Pamela reminded him. 

It felt surreal to be discussing wedding plans with Tom.

Oh god, she’d asked him to marry her. He had said yes. 

She’d almost died today. (Granted not the first time a student pilot had attempted to kill her, but it was the first time she almost didn’t get control of the plane before something fatal had occurred.) 

“Should I phone your mother? Doesn’t she hold weddings at her bed and breakfast?”

“What? Yeah. Usually in the winter, though she’s held a few in the back garden in the summer,” Pamela said. 

“Brilliant. Then I won’t have to find a wedding planner. We’ll use your mum.”

Pamela laughed. “Thomas, isn’t the bride supposed to do most of the planning?”

“Oh, it’s the twenty-first century,” Tom breezily declared. “Also, you don’t strike me as the wedding planning type— like the little details. But if you want, you can—”

“No! No! You can do everything,” Pamela quickly assured. “It’s just…cute. I…feel like I did this backwards. Or I did something backwards. I did think about it…you know…before today and it popped out. I am serious.”

“You’d never have asked if you weren’t and if it hadn’t been on your mind, love. And I’m quite flattered. No one’s asked me to marry them.”

Pamela snorted. “Try that again.”

“Oh, all right. No one has asked that I wanted to say yes to.”

Pamela grinned. “That’s better.”

“So, do you think we could have photos taken in Garden of the Gods? Oh! And what is that castle your father insisted I see that we didn’t?”

“Glen Eyrie?”

There was a long pause, then, “Ah, brilliant! Perfect! Oh! They do weddings at Garden of the Gods…though, I don’t know if an outdoor wedding there would work for us. Might want to stick to the castle.”

“There’s castles in England,” Pamela offered.

“Ach. No. Your whole family is in Colorado Springs. It’ll also be easier for Door and Baby Tom to get there than to London. And my family isn’t a problem. There’s only four of us in England and Sarah will fly in from India. No matter where she goes, it’ll be a hassle.” 

“Baby Tom?”

“You know she’s naming her child after her favorite actor.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Not about Door. About the wedding in Colorado.”

“Oh, definitely. Also, it’ll be easier for you to get there. Only an eight hour drive. And then we can go home afterwards.”

“Home?”

“Yes. I’ll be living with you by this point in time,” Tom reminded her. 

“Oh. Yeah.”

“Also, between jobs, it’ll be easier to plan a wedding with your mum if we’re in the same country.”

“Are you…oh god.”

Pamela buried her face in her hand. 

“I have to tell my mom before you call her to start planning,” Pamela sternly told to Tom. “What am I going to tell her?”

“That we’re getting married. It will be rather simple.”

“Simple,” Pamela echoed. “Yeah.”

* * *

Pamela stormed into the flight room. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see a few of the students look surprised, but Pamela didn’t have time for them. 

“Do you know what you made me to?”

The student she’d hooked earlier fearfully gazed up at her. 

“Do you?”

“N-n-n-n-no.”

“I proposed to Tom Hiddleston!” 

Without another word Pamela turned and stormed off before the girl could start crying again. 

“Did he at least say yes?” Erik called out from across the hall.

Pamela slammed the door on her shared office. Luckily, the guy she shared it with wasn’t around. 

“I’m pretty sure he said yes,” Pamela heard Erik proclaim.  

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

* * *

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

_Tom_

He’d searched high and low till he found a quiet, family owned, jewelry shop in Toronto. From the website, he’d learned it was run by a husband and wife team, who were old enough to be Tom’s grandparents. He had a feeling it was highly unlikely they knew who he was and thus would not leak his good news nor care all that much about whom he was. 

Upon finding himself standing in front of the window of the tiny shop, he knew his weeks of searching had not been for naught. The perfect ring was sitting in the font window display. Tom pushed the door open, listening to the jingle of the little bell as he entered the darkened show room. It took his eyes a moment to adjust from the brightness of the morning sunlight to the dimness of the store, but upon being able to see, he zeroed in on the gray haired man behind the counter. 

“Good morning!” the man greeted. “Welcome to Green’s Jewelry, how can I help you?” 

“Actually, I’m interested in a ring in the front display,” Tom said, indicating over his shoulder which window he meant. 

“A fellow who knows what he wants,” the man chuckled, coming out from behind the counter. “So, which one is the lucky ring?”

“That rather simple one there,” Tom specified. 

The man carefully fished the ring out of the window and headed back to where he’d been standing. Tom trailed after the man, coming to rest opposite the man as he put the ring on a black velvet cloth so Tom could see the ring better. 

It was utterly perfect. 

“Don’t tell my wife, but this is one of my favorites,” the man loudly whispered to Tom. “Plain, simple, and the diamond has no chance to get caught on anything so it is perfect for a more active woman. Like my wife.”

The man glanced over his shoulder towards the back of the shop before smiling at Tom. 

“My intended is rather the active sort. She’s also not into jewelry. Besides the watch she always sports, she wears no jewelry. This ring, though, sings her name.”

Tom picked the ring up and inspected it closely. He asked all the questions he felt he ought to ask before buying a diamond ring. 

Twenty minutes later, he exited the store with a small, black box in his coat pocket. While he was enjoying the project he was currently filming, he was eager for the film to wrap so he could get the ring on Pamela’s finger. 

* * *

“You haven’t stopped smiling since we arrived this morning,” Jim Beaver commented. “Well, except whilst in character.”

“I’m looking forward to wrapping this project,” Tom admitted. Tom was anxiously waiting for the projected eighteen hour day to be over. He was roughly eleven hours into it. “And not because it’s been a horrid project. I’m simply looking forward to what’s to come next.”

Jim quirked an eyebrow as Guillermo del Toro moved front and center. 

“Can I have everyone’s attention?” Guillermo called out. “That’s it. We don’t have anything else to shoot.”

An unstoppable smile broke out on Tom’s face. 

He was done.

He could go home.

To Enid, Oklahoma.

Who knew he’d ever be living in Enid, Oklahoma?

Tom tried hard to pay attention to the closing remarks Guillermo made (he failed somewhat), thanked everyone profusely for the cake and flowers he was presented with along with Jim for having wrapped the film, and made sure to hug everyone who was in the room. 

“Jim,” Tom grabbed the man before he vacated. “I just wanted to let you know it was a pleasure working with you and if I fail to see you before you head back to England, I really appreciated your friendship whilst we worked on this film.”

Jim looked rather baffled, then grinned. “Oh, the pleasure was all mine. Where are you in a hurry to get to?”

Tom felt his ears heat up a little but allowed his lips to break into a huge smile. “Home.”

“Ah, home is where the heart is, eh?”

“Definitely.”

“I thought you had to go to LA?”

“Oh, I do. Then I get to go home.”

“Seems like a lot of flying,” Jim remarked. 

“Not as much as it was,” Tom offhandedly replied. He clapped Jim on the shoulder before hugging him again. “We will have to keep in contact.”

“I’ve followed you on Twitter,” Jim remarked. 

Tom knew the friendships made on film sets were sometimes fleeting, but Tom went out of his way to keep in contact with those he felt he’d made a good friendship with and Jim was one of them. Tom had felt as if he’d known Jim before they’d started filming thanks to reading his autobiography. It’d been poignant.  

“Good, good,” Tom said.

“Leave.”

“Pardon?”

“You are eager to leave so you can get to LA and then go home, right?”

“Yes, I am ashamed to admit it. I wish to be in more than one place at once,” Tom admitted, grinning. 

Jim clapped him on the shoulder. “Well, off with you, boy! Off with you.”

OoOoOoOoOoO

* * *

OoOoOoOoOoO

_Pamela_

The boxes of books had begun to show up shortly after Pamela had arrived back in Enid after the holidays. By the time May began, Pamela wasn’t sure where Tom planned to put all the boxes of books he’d spent five months shipping to her. (Well, not him personally, as he’d been in Toronto since February.)

“Maybe we’ll have to build an annex just for your fiancé’s book collection,” Ryan remarked as he helped Pamela bring the latest batch of books into the house.

Pamela blushed. Even after a month, she still wasn’t used to the guys calling Tom her fiancé. 

“How come he spent the past five months mailing books? Does he not have anything else?”

Pamela pushed her hair behind her ears and frowned. “He doesn’t really have much other than books. Most of his flat was comprised of books.”  

“His flat,” Ryan chuckled, shaking his head as he moved around the boxes in the living room. “It must be a lot larger than this house.” 

Pamela’s frown deepened as she watched Ryan pick his way through the maze of boxes. “No, actually. I’m pretty sure our house is bigger than Thomas’ flat.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Ryan allowed. “Well, as soon as he gets here and tells me where he wants the book shelves…we’ll reclaim the living room!”

Pamela laughed. “Thanks for, well, putting up with this.”

Ryan shrugged. “Not a big deal. I’m kinda looking forward to living in a library.”

“As opposed to a storage unit.”

Ryan was the ultimate roommate. He himself was easy to live with and he did not mind at all when Pamela told him Tom was going to move in. In fact, Pamela felt Ryan was looking forward to it almost as much as she was. 

“I just can’t believe this is all books. Like, does Tom own anything other than books? Clothes? DVDs? Furniture? A car?”

“He owns all those things,” Pamela said. “It’s just we’ve got, well, you’ve got furniture. We don’t need couches, tables, or chairs. Between the two of us, we’ve got dishes. You came with kitchen gadgets. So, he just sent the stuff he…uh, well, the stuff he seemed to think he couldn’t live without.” 

Ryan dubiously looked around the living room. “He can’t live without all these books?”

“He likes books,” Pamela defended sheepishly. 

“Maybe more than you,” Ryan teased. 

Pamela rolled her eyes.

* * *

Twenty-four hours later, Pamela wasn’t sure what she was seeing. She glanced over at Ryan, who was standing next to her on the front sidewalk. He looked a little shell shocked. Pamela turned back to Tom, who was standing next to the largest, whitest truck she’d ever seen. 

“You bought that?”

“I’m living here. When else will I be able to drive an American truck?” Tom blithely asked, motioning over his shoulder at the hulking truck. “Just wanted embrace the culture, cinnamon.” 

“Oh, you’ve embraced it,” Ryan laughed weakly. “Did you just go out and find the biggest truck you could?” 

“No. I simply requested one. This was the one that had all the options I wanted. Also, I liked the milky color,” Tom explained, looking between Pamela and Ryan as if he couldn’t figure out the problem.

“So, you bought a truck?” Pamela questioned.

“Yes.”

“You bought a $50,000 truck because it was white?” Ryan faintly asked. 

“I could have gotten a maroon one, but I liked the color and it had the options I wanted.” 

“You want to be an American cowboy, don’t you?” Pamela asked.

Tom grinned, reached into the truck and pulled out a cowboy hat. Pamela face palmed. 

* * *

“You don’t like the truck.”

“I don’t know why you felt the need to buy a truck,” Pamela admitted. “Why on earth do you, Thomas William Hiddleston, need a truck?”

“To move the dog around.”

“We don’t have a dog.”

“But we might.”

“Okay, but seriously, why—” 

“I don’t pack light. While I know the Air Force will forever be moving my things now—well, my things here— I still have quite a bit of stuff when I just move myself.”

“But a truck’s worth?”

“Seriously, we’re going to get a dog.”

“We can’t have a dog. I work, you work, we all work.”

“For ice cream.”

Pamela face palmed. Again. 

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

* * *

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

_Tom_

Tom was vorfreude. The little ring box in his pocket seemed to be burning a hole through the layers of cloth. He was sure he had a huge sign above his head stating he was toting a ring around. He knew, granted, that wasn’t true, but he was feeling intense joy towards what the future was to bring. 

Even Pamela’s reaction to the truck couldn’t get him down. Honestly, when was he ever going to get a chance to actually own a truck? Everyone had trucks in Enid. And cowboy boots. And a few had hats. So, Tom had to get a hat. He’d always wanted a Stetson. 

“Are you ready?”

“For what?” Pamela asked, looking utterly confused.

“My first night in town! We must go out on the town!”

Pamela snorted, looking back at her mini iPad. Tom looked over her shoulder to find she was reading about airplanes.

Or something.

“I’ve shown you Enid. There’s nothing here. Unless you want to see the jailed trees again.”

There was a rather large plot of land that was owned by the gas company that had a whole bunch of trees planted in perfect parallel lines and they were fenced in with barbed wire facing towards the trees, thus preventing the trees from jumping the fence. From what Tom and Pamela could tell, there was nothing fenced in except the trees. 

“There’s the quaint downtown,” Tom pointed out, straightening and going back to his side of the bed. He stared into his suitcase, unsure what he ought to wear. It was much too warm out (hot, it’d been almost ninety degrees) for a suit, but he wished to dress nicely. 

“Quaint?” Pamela echoed from behind him. 

“It is rather quaint. Don’t argue. Put on something nice and let’s be on our way,” Tom said.

“Nice? We’re in Enid.”

Tom looked over his shoulder and gave Pamela a look. 

“Oh,” she said quietly, setting the iPad down. “I’m ruining something, aren’t I?”

“Not quite.”

“Okay. Okay. Uh…dress. Fine. I think I own one.”

“I know you own at least two, darling dove,” Tom said, going back to his suitcase. 

“I can’t wear those here.”

“Why ever not?”

“It’s Enid. You don’t wear fancy dress in Enid anywhere except maybe prom. You’re not taking me to Enid High’s prom are you?”

“Heavens no.” 

* * *

Tom was taking Pamela to one of the few ‘nice’ restaurant in Enid. He’d asked Ryan for counsel and Ryan suggested a place called PaneVino (pronounced  _Pan Veeno_ ). However, he planned to propose before dinner. 

“Okay. Do I look okay?”

Tom glanced up from where he’d been fidgeting in the front lounge. Pamela was wearing dark washed jean shorts and a rather feminine top.  She looked ill at ease, which only made Tom smile. 

“Beautiful as usual,” Tom said, feeling a little breathless. 

“If you say so. Where are we going? Should I wear—”

“You look fine. Perfect, in fact,” Tom smiled. While it was still quite warm, Tom had worn slacks and a blue button down, sleeves rolled up. He was more dressed down than he cared to be, but not overheating won out over his fashion sense. (He’d overheated somewhat once in Detroit where he’d worn a three piece suit on a overly hot day. Never again.) “Come here.”

“I’m not sure I’ll fit in there,” Pamela said, finishing coming down the stairs and looking into the living room where Tom was standing.

“Oh, you’ll fit. Now, come here.”

“Where’d Ryan go?”

“I believe he went over to Erik’s. They’re having a Land Rover fixing party,” Tom said, feeling a bit amused at the thought of a bunch of American service men fixing a British vehicle. And it was British, steering wheel on the right side and all. 

“That stupid Land Rover,” Pamela muttered. “Oh, did Ryan speak to you about building bookshelves?”

“Yes. Now, come here,” Tom said, pointing at the spot right in front of him. 

Frowning, Pamela wove her way through the boxes till she was standing in front of him. Tom instantly dropped to one knee, smoothly taking out the tiny, black velvet box. He looked up at Pamela and waited. She stared at him, looking bewildered. He raised his eyebrows, offering the box up again. Pamela let out a loud sigh, blushed, and finally asked, “Thomas, will you marry me?”

“Yes,” Tom beamed, flicking the box open to reveal the ring. 

Pamela gasped. Slowly her left hand lifted up to touch the box, but she quickly withdrew it. 

“Where? How?”

“Toronto. I walked into a shop.”

“You walked into a shop?”

“Yes, I contemplated having something custom made, but then I found this tiny jewelry shop and what happened to be in the window? The ring I wished to design,” Tom said, smiling as large as he could. “Could you try it on? I guessed on the size of your tiny hands.”

“You did not,” Pamela said, taking the ring from the box. Tom allowed her to study it for a few seconds before he swiftly stood up, took it from her and slid it onto her finger. “Ryan attacked me with a ring sizer the day after I asked you.”

Tom chuckled. “And here I thought he’d gotten the size stealthily.” 

“No. Pretty sure Ryan and stealth don’t go together.”

Tom chuckled. “Well?”

Pamela gazed at her hand, before her eyes trailed to the watch she was wearing. “I seem to wear everything important on my left side.”

“Well, then. I know where I ought to be,” Tom said, quickly moving to stand on her left side. He took her hand and tucked it in the crook of his arm. “Shall we?”

“Yes. You know, I thought you’d plan something more public.”

“Oh, cinnamon, you’re not the type for public declarations. I felt it more fitting to give you the ring in our own home. And now, we’ll go celebrate with a good meal and a bottle of wine.”

“And a big ugly truck.”

“Oh, hush.”

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

* * *

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

_Pamela_

“That thing is huge.”

“That’s true, but it really does fit in with the neighborhood. There’s a huge truck. There’s a huge truck. There’s a truck, there’s a truck. Every one has a truck now!” Ryan exclaimed, pointing at all the various pick up trucks visible from the front window.

“I thought you were going to start singing for a second.”

“I don’t randomly break into song. I’m in the Air Force.”

“Thank you. I keep telling Thomas that and he doesn’t believe we don’t sing in the Air Force.”

“Likely due to the media campaign that claims we all sing in the military. The media lies.”

“Totally true.”

“Are you two conspiring against my Clara Bella?” Tom called out from the kitchen.

“OH MY GOD, you named it?” Pamela shirked. 

* * *

Living with Tom was easy. A lot easier than Pamela thought it would be. Besides the fact he bought a freaking $50,000 GMC truck, there were no blips in the road. It was almost too easy to live with Tom. Ryan was hardly ever around on the weekends, and during the week Tom behaved as if Ryan was their rather old, tall child. Pamela was sure this would annoy Ryan to no end, but Ryan didn’t seem to even notice.

It was more alarming it wasn’t uncomfortable for Ryan to live with them as they embarked on this supposedly huge step in their relationship, but then again, to Pamela it felt like they were just roommates, only Pamela and Tom shared a room. She was sure it wasn’t all that embarrassing, seeing Pamela had made sure the house was soundproof shortly before Ryan moved in. (It was. The last person who lived there had a teenager, so the upstairs had been soundproof during the last renovation.)

The only snag: the truck. Pamela hated that stupid truck. It was huge, loud, and way too big. Neither of them needed a truck.

Well, okay, it’d come in handy with the landscaping they’d done. They easily fit a lot of large bushes into the back. They’d never fit in the Jetta. Or whatever normal car Tom might have bought in OKC before he’d arrived in Enid. 

“Pamela, cinnamon, you’ve got to be awake and at work by six. Please stop over thinking our lives and sleep,” Tom’s sleepy voice mumbled into her neck in the wee hours of the morning on June third. 

“Why do people make such a big deal out of moving into together?”

“No clue. Never lived with another bird.”

“I’m not a bird.”

“Woman. Sorry. I’m sleepy.”

“Then go to sleep.”

“You’re thinking too loudly, love.”

“Fine.”

Pamela didn’t go to sleep right away, but continued to mull over the whole ordeal. She came to no conclusion other than either she was super abnormal or everyone made a big deal out of nothing.

* * *

“Did you get the text?”

“What text? I just landed.”

“Check your texts!”

“Fine, Thomas. Hold on a moment.”

Tom made a series of excited sounding noises as Pamela checked her text messages. She had several: one from her mom about the wedding, one from her brother’s fiancé about her hair, and finally one from Door. 

The baby had arrived. 

And his name was Kerr Carlton Thomas Cumberbatch. 

“You’re never going to shut up now, are you?” Pamela asked, putting the phone back to her ear.

“Nope,” Tom said, popping the “p” as loudly as he could. 

* * *

“Where are you going to park that thing while you’re in Northern Ireland?”

“In the driveway.”

“Uh, Thomas, your flight is at six in the morning. I’m not driving you.”

“I didn’t think you would.”

“We live in Enid. There’s no car service here.”

“I’ve seen taxies around these parts.”

“Thomas.”

“I’m taking your car.”

“Why?”

“So you and Clara Bella can get to know one another. And don’t you give me that death glare of yours. It doesn’t work on me, darling dove.”

“If you tweak my nose I will end you.”

* * *

“You can pick up your car if you go with us to Cars and Coffee,” Erik said one fine, overly hot morning in late July. 

“What?”

“Alan’s got his Chevelle finally and we’re all going down to OKC for this thing he found online called Cars and Coffee. It’s a bunch of classic cars in a mall parking lot with coffee. Neat, huh?”

“Not really.”

“Well, it’d get your car back,” Erik pointed out, leaning on her desk.

“Maybe I don’t want my car back.”

Erik grinned, showing his teeth. “I knew you liked the truck.”

“I don’t like the truck.”

“She likes being tall,” Ryan shouted from the other room. 

Pamela really wanted something to throw, but she didn’t have anything that would magically go out in the hall, around the corner, and into the other room. So she settled for punching Erik in the arm hard as she could as he continued to laugh at her. 

* * *

“I do not like you. I do not like you,” Pamela insisted as she drove the truck home from Lowes, where she’d had a sales associate load it up the new washer and dryer she’d bought for the house. Yeah, she liked the fact she could put them in the truck and didn’t have to pay to have them delivered. 

That didn’t mean she liked the fact she had to drive a stupid truck to work every day. 

* * *

“Did you think when we moved in together that you’d fall in love with my truck?”

“Shut up, Thomas.”

“No, tell me, please. Are you cheating on me with Clara Bella?”

“Thomas.”

“You’ve been talking about the truck for an hour, cinnamon. A whole hour. I called you and you began talking about the truck. You’re still taking about the truck.”

“Then come back here and stop me.”

“Oh, if I could. If I could, love.”

* * *

Pamela would never admit it, even on the threat of death, but she liked that damn truck. 

 

 


End file.
